


For Thou Are Covetous And He Is Kind

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal follows Peter and faces a shocking betrayal</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Thou Are Covetous And He Is Kind

Title: For Thou Art Covetous and He Is Kind

Author: Ursula  
Rating: rating: R  
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke Peter/Kate (Wait and see on this)  
Notes: Spoilers: not many except for series general facts and some borrowed catch phrases. (And deviled ham sandwiches)  
Warnings: betrayal? There are very dark moments. This was written high on snorted Shakespearean Sonnets  
Word Count:   
Summary: Kate is back and she appears to have Peter in her talons. (Nothing to do with my other Kate story)

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,  
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,  
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine  
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:  
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,  
For thou art covetous and he is kind;  
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me  
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.  
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,  
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,  
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;  
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.  
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:  
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free

Sonnet 144  
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,  
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:  
The better angel is a man right fair,  
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.  
To win me soon to hell, my female evil  
Tempteth my better angel from my side,  
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,  
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.  
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend  
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;  
But being both from me, both to each friend,  
I guess one angel in another's hell:  
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,  
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

 

OooOooO

 

There are things Neal does not consider. He does not think of Kate when he is in Peter's arms. Only in his forlorn bed, does Kate come seeking him like a blood sucking succubus and drains him, drains him, leaves him to wither and blow in the least cold breeze.

The nightmares have become so terrible that when he does not sleep with Peter, Neal calls Moz, makes him sleep with him, chastely, although, honestly, if Moz demanded more as a price, Neal would have ceded his body against the greater cost of being alone. But Moz is kind and faithful. He would not ask even if he wanted. Neal hugs him like a teddy bear; Moz is embarrassed by this but he will not say no.

On one occasion, when Moz was away and El was not working at night, Neal crept to their home anyway, slept on the couch, and sleep walked to the marital bed. El let him sleep there and he slept very well.

 

OooOooO

During the day, Neal is himself and he continues to make motions for finding Kate. His heart is not in it, but he can't seem to let go. He tells himself that Peter has El and him so why should he not have Kate and Peter?

After that fleeting glance of Kate, Neal had not caught sight of her nor received any communication from her.

Just when Neal wants some exciting case (just no guns aimed at his pretty head this time, please) there are none to be found. There is always work, too much of it, but it's dry stuff. Financial fraud is the bulk of Peter's work and it bores Neal to death although he is good with numbers so still useful.

Funny how Neal likes being useful. He always wanted to be a drone. He smiled. People were wrong when they called workers drones. Drones were the males born for one courting dance, one fuck, one death. Workers never were bothered by sex or anything more than collecting nectar, building the hive, and caring for the larvae. If Neal was a worker bee, he surely would have purloined the royal nectar and been the one transformed to be that death dancer.

Trying to get a crumpled post it into the garbage, Neal failed. He sighed and got up to encounter Peter rising. He pondered that and looked at the clock. "Thank god, time for lunch. Where we going?"

"We are not going," Peter said. "I'm meeting someone."

"El loves it when you bring me to lunch with her."

"It's not El. It's my accountant. You would be bored and I would be distracted. See if Jones wants to go. He needs to get out more. Or call Moz and feed him. He looked peckish when I last saw him."

Hmm. His Peter-Meter was whooping big alarms. Neal waved good bye and then set out to shadow Peter.

OooOooO

There she was, sitting at the table that was becoming their table. It was not a place where he took Elizabeth or Neal or the two of them. First of all, he did not want to chance an encounter. Second of all, well, let's leave that be.

Neal's Kate was beautiful. She had Neal's same pools of blue for eyes. She was much thinner than El, but still had not starved away her curves. Peter, as he had explained to Neal, did know woman's fashion. Some of the crimes investigated by his unit were knock offs of famous brands. Kate was not wearing knock offs. She wore a black sweater, a matching skirt, and boots that would have taken Peter's entire month's wages to buy.

Peter listened more than he spoke. He gave her what he had given to Neal, the intensity of his regard. El says he has no idea of the power of his eyes, the way he made you feel that you have his entire attention. She is wrong. Peter knows. He thinks of it as his super cop power, but it works in relationships too.

Leaning on the table, Peter devoured Kate's every word. She preened beneath his gaze and she touches his leg with his foot beneath the table.

"I still think you are trying to trap me as you did Neal." Kate said. "Do you want me as much as you wanted him?"

Leaning close, Peter thought that Neal always underestimated his skills as an actor. Sure, it took some method inspiration for Peter to do Terminator-body guard, but interrogations are performance act. Peter was known for his ability to get under his suspect's radar and under their skin.

"You have no idea how much I want you," Peter said, his tone so torrid that it should have been illegal. He saw the eyelashes flutter…she used to much mascara…and saw her cheeks pink. "You fascinate me, Kate. I think you are underestimated. Neal took all the discredit, but you were the master mind or at least his inspiration."

"Are you flattering me, Agent Burke?"

"I am a man of simple truths," Peter lied.

Kate has a beautiful smile although not if you look into her eyes. Peter looks at her breasts as they are displayed in the form fitting sweater. She follows his gaze, straightens and displays them for him. Peter's smile is that of a shark, but Kate appears to like that.

OooOooO

Neal saw a movie where they put the bad guy on a mound of fire ants with honey on his skin when he was six. It gave him nightmares and he was forbidden anything but Disney cartoons until he was seven. He knew what it felt like, being devoured in a thousand pin pricks. He knew how it burns, how the pain never stopped, how the heart pounded with the need to flee the agony and the helpless straining against unyielding rope. He knew what it felt like to crave sweet oblivion.

Peter is kind. Neal found that out early in their dance, their mating dance of cops and robbers. He stalked Peter as Peter stalked him. At first, it was self preservation. Deer did not have the option of studying the hunter, but Neal was a man, an intelligent one, and he studied Peter. He liked what he saw. The beautiful wife, the way they loved each other, still holding hands. He had thought even then that he envied them. Kate thought hand holding is juvenile. When he tried to hold her hand, she rolled her eyes and withdrew her cold fingers from his warm ones.

Peter was uncomfortable with women, but he was old fashioned, courteous, and Neal was charmed. Neal spent his childhood on the outside, looking in. He loved his old movies, from the big romantic ones to the cool ones like Ocean's Eleven where women were dames and your buds were your true loves. Neal loved to dress the part and Byron's suits clad him in rat pack glory. He was acting in movies and playing roles. Neal loved Peter because Peter had completed the performance and built Neal such a wonderful stage. And he loved Peter because Peter was kind.

The truth was that Neal early on started thinking that it must be glorious to be Elizabeth. It would be nice to have Peter opening doors for you, touching you, looking deep in your eyes. Better to be Elizabeth and be the love of his life than the elegant thief who got away. There are moments of brutal honesty where Neal has to consider if he was caught or if he gave himself away to Peter, if somehow Neal had played the biggest gambit of his life and won.

Kate… Neal made much of her. She was beautiful. Her skin was like silk…Peter would never take care of himself. The stubble on Peter's cheek felt like sandpaper when it brushed Neal's inner thighs. It felt so good that Neal would arch and cry. Sometimes Peter would chuckle when Neal was particular out of control, mewling, writhing, trying to force Peter to fuck him when Peter would tease, oh how Peter loved to tease him. It did something to Peter to see Neal unraveled, out of control, begging for it. Neal gave Peter that even though it worried Neal, made him afraid that Peter would drink him dry and leave him.

When Neal had met Kate, he knew the plot. He wrote the movie in his head, each touch, each word, each sigh, each gasp. He gave her his heart, all of it, he believed that.

Kate loves him. Neal wants to believe she does, but when she thought he was asleep, her mask dropped and her eyes were empty pits wherein Neal might tumble and fall endlessly through all the levels of hell. Love with Kate was cold terror between obsidian waves of passion that left Neal bleeding.

When Neal sees Peter with Kate, his first thought is not of jealousy for Kate, but fear for Peter. That tells him something his romantic heart and calculating head can not suss or will not.

OooOooO

'And I myself am mortgaged to thy will'

It was an arrangement. Neal likes arrangements; they are so sophisticated. He played himself in shifting scenes of ardor, spread for Peter's pleasure upon his bed. His hands grip deep into the downy linens as if he must hold on or surely he will fly. He will fly away and be lost in Peter.

The most frightening part is that Neal is tempted, yes, he is tempted. He wants to bury himself in Peter's arms, to rest in his heart, to be his Neal and no one else's, not even his own.

How does one do that? Has Elizabeth done that? Neal doesn't think so. She has her happy life and she has her happy marriage. She has considered Neal and she has wrapped him up and given him to Peter because she knows she will always be first. Neal would hate her, but he's not good at that, at hating, and what rancor he could muster would never be aimed at El. Elizabeth is even kinder than her husband. She is generous of heart and lush of body, but she is not lost in Peter.

Pondering El, Neal turned his face away from a kiss. Peter looked troubled. He cupped Neal's face in his strong hands. His gaze drives right through Neal's walls. "I do adore you. I love your body, I cherish your face. I love your soul, damned as it might be, and I love your mind, god, how I love your mind. You drive me crazy and I don't mind at all."

And he is lost. Neal Caffrey is lost.

Peter smiles and Neal knows he loves doing this to Neal. He loves making him surrender. He loves the way Neal so beautifully capitulates, the grace of his submission.

Wrapped in Peter's kiss, Neal loses his grip on the sheets, his hands transfer to Peter's strong back; he holds to Peter.

'Don't let me go. Don't let me fall. Hold me, hold me and never let me go.'

OooOooO

To win me soon to hell, my female evil  
Tempteth my better angel from my side,  
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil

************************************

Neal can't stop from watching his Kate with Peter. He may as well have cast himself on sharp stakes.

He thought he would be enraged to see Kate's hands caress another when her caresses to him were bought at cost of life, limb, and his freedom, such as it was when he was her thrall.

It's Peter's touch that Neal covets. The memory of his kisses, his embraces, his passionate and loving touch is written deep on Neal, body and soul.

He can't follow them to the hotel room. He is left outside, his fists balled in his pockets, and his face called sweet by so many women and some men, is such a vessel for his rage that a path clears around him even in New York's oblivious crowds.

OooOooO

It's El's night with Peter. Neal does not begrudge her what she so freely gave him when it was all her right to demand that no moment of Peter's time be his. Who could be jealous of Elizabeth? Neal could still feel her hand on his face, her eyes electric truth divining rods as blue as his own as she asked him how serious he was about Peter.

That night not so long ago, Neal studied for the answer El wanted in her face, but she was the stronger and he blurted no lie, "I can't help loving him. I'm sorry."

El had smoothed his hair and nodded. "I thought so. Peter is worthy of love."

"Maybe you should just tell him to send me back."

"Oh, Neal, that you think I could do that to you! You don't belong in there. No, don't get me wrong. You are hardly innocent, not of crimes as trivial as yesterday's fad or fashion, but what you are, darling, is a different kind of criminal who needs a different kind of cage."

Despite what she must truly feel, Elizabeth smiles, pats Neal's cheek, and says, "I want my husband to make an honest man of you."

Neal catches El's hand, kisses it a thousand times over and he can not speak a word before her bounty and her love.

OooOooO

Moz has got himself off somewhere; Neal hopes he will not have to bail him out of some scheme too nefarious for Moz's huge dreams and gaps in logical fulfillment of said dreams.

Without Peter, without Moz, Neal doesn't even try to sleep. He sits on the terrace although it is much too cold now for that to be any comfort. Not even the beauty of New York's tawdry reality all garbed in a million shining baubles of light can ease his soul.

There is no knock, no warning greeting, but Neal hears her step. He turns and he is correct. His Kate has come to call.

Kate's face is like a heart, a wicked pretty heart to hold in his hands until she turns away. And she always turns away as she is leaving him.

"Darling," Kate says. She has such a charming voice. Neal doesn't stand when she walks close to him.

The trouble is that Neal has seen her so often in his dreams that the solid Kate is not what he remembers.

Her eyes are the same arc flash of blue as his own. Her hair is lustrous, a shining field of piceous hue. Her lips are a sweet double bow of desire he has often kissed until they are red ripe cherries. Her skin is as pale as if she also was immured in walls so thick and tall no sun could shine to warm skin hungry for its touch.

Neal dreams her face and eyes gone soft with love. This Kate is smug and her eyes dance only with the pleasure of a gambit well played. He compares her with Peter who does not for one moment believe his face has beauty and he finds her wanting. For when Peter gazes at Neal, Neal feels his love bone deep. When Peter reaches for Neal, Neal wants to be everything that Peter seems to believe he can be.

Kate's hands reach and Neal is a diamond pointed tool she may use. He is her defense against what she fears. And she has many fears, of age, of poverty, of days gone dull and spare of pleasure.

His Kate was enough for the Neal whose head was full of stories, of pretty celluloid fantasies, and damsels in distress.

Those pretty dreams did not include Peter, not the reality of his rumpled suit, the way his breath smelled after eating deviled ham, that he would not love Neal enough to let him steal or con. That Neal had a feeling that he would have found Peter's love less true if he had allowed it. That possibly Peter's heart wanted Neal safe within the hearth of him that was family, job, common pleasures as well as passion, sharp wit, and the ability to turn Neal into a quivering sacrifice for Peter's touch.

And Neal considers that possibly the writers had it quite wrong.

He thinks that love does not have to hurt although sometimes he does feel so much for Peter that he thinks he can not live another moment without his touch. That hopeless passions may not be as beautiful as Neal believed. That sometimes you can live happily ever after without riding off into the sunset. That magnificent deaths are not as satisfactory as successful lives after all.

OooOooO

I guess one angel in another's hell:  
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,  
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

***********************

Kate touches him as if appraising him. She smiles and says, "You look like yourself."

Neal raises an eyebrow. His face is even chillier where she touches him. (Peter's hands are always warm.)

"You've haven't been trying to find me," Kate said when Neal follows the pressure of her touch and turns to her in his chair.

Straddling him, Kate is suddenly all about sex. She puts it on like a dress and she can slip it off with equal ease. Neal never knew if he was really making her come. She was wetter sometimes when he was talking a good heist. But then that used to make him hard too. The pair of them a twisted love knot of wrong.

Tugging his collar to make him rise, Kate leads him to his room. He thought he smelled her perfume one night. He guesses it was no illusion, no trick of sensory memory since she does not ask and he does not tell her which door.

"I can give him to you," Kate said. "I can seduce him and I can make him do anything for me."

She throws her head back and she smiles as she falls upon his bed, which belongs to Peter and Neal does not like her there. "Don't look so shocked. I know you, darling. I half made you the way you are."

"Strip for me," Kate says.

Neal was used to obeying and his hands make clumsy works of buttons and zippers. He stands before her nude and shamed.

They work out in the gym once a week. Peter is supposed to be teaching him self defense but Neal makes it hard to concentrate. Although they sometimes wear each other's marks, Peter is cautious of this in general and never leaves a trace before the Friday training.

"Was prison terrible?" Kate says. "Did you suffer? Did anyone take advantage?"

"I hated it," Neal said, "But it wasn't the inmates that made it terrible and the guards for the most part liked me."

"Everyone likes you," Kate scoffed. "You must tire of it."

Neal does not. He likes being befriended. He loves people. He finds them interesting which is a good part of the reason he was so able at conning them. He tries to give something for what he takes, if only the conviction that his marks are prettier, handsomer, smarter, than truth would tell. He is so clever at engaging the people he cons that few of them even call the law. Some would even welcome his return even if they kept a tighter grip on their valuables when he came calling.

Kate is wiggling out of her clothing and she tosses it everywhere. Neal could never get her to stop that. Peter is trying to please so he makes an effort to stack everything on Neal's dresser. The nice thing about sharing with El is how much effort she has already expended to civilize Peter.

One of Peter's socks hangs guiltily from Neal's mirror. Neal sees it, but Kate seems oblivious. Peter knew what brand of socks Neal wears. He sheepishly bought Neal both socks and underwear before Neal found a way around the pittance that was provided to keep him. Neal's socks are certainly not like the generic black sock that hangs from his mirror.

OooOooO

"He really has you tied up in knots," Kate says.

She is angry. Neal is embarrassed. It may happen to any man on occasion, but he can't remember a time when he could not get it up and keep it up.

"I'll forgive you this time,' Kate states. She caresses Neal's face which is buried in his pillow. "All you have to do is tell me where it is, tell me about the cache. I can deliver him to your bed. I will have him so turned on that he wouldn't care if we had the circus clown and the bearded lady fucking him."

"I've been keeping him on a string," Kate announces proudly. "By the time, I'm done with him; he'll do anything for a taste of me."

Neal thinks miserably, 'Oh Peter, she is so wrong for you. All those lectures about Kate being bad for me and you, you have El and me, you let her seduce you?'

"Kate, there never was a cache," Neal tried to explain. "I just thought it was a way to keep you mine when I was rotting in prison. I'm sorry."

"You never could lie to me," Kate said. "I know you want proof. I'll bring you proof. Not here though. That bed is too small for three. You will have him anyway you want him. I promise you. You want to take his cherry? I'll get him to offer it to you."

All that yearning and Neal is shocked to find he feels nothing now that Kate is here.

Damn Peter, Neal imagined that he doggedly pursued Kate just as he had Neal. He no doubt thought he was saving Neal by finding her. Kate is seductive, but Neal is still shocked. He thought Peter faithful, but making an exception for Neal, an approved exemption from marital vows. El would not approve of Kate, not for either of them.

 

OooOooO

Peter had been with Neal enough to buy a nicer suit for his next meeting with Kate. He has told El just as he discussed Neal before he so much as stole a kiss, although Neal freely gave his kisses and anything else Peter wanted. Neal, he can not tell. He has his reasons.

The wine tastes bitter. Peter winces and wishes for a beer. Neal keeps his brand in his refrigerator even when Peter forgets to restock.

"I want you," Kate husks. "Let's go to my room. I can't wait another second. Oh, Peter, let's go."

Kate looks confused when they enter the room as if something was missing. Excusing herself, she goes to the bathroom, but takes her phone. Peter spends some time looking out the window before Kate arrives back looking flummoxed.

"You look beautiful," Peter said. He has seen something Kate has missed, one of Neal's origami creations. He can sense Neal in the room. He takes a deep breath and reaches for Kate. He can feel her reluctance, her hesitation so quickly hidden.

He expects her to refuse, but she follows him like a child to her bed. He smoothes the hair from her face and studies her eyes.

"Well? You just going to sit there and look at me?" Kate demanded. Her face is far from seductive. It is sullen.

"Why do you want to have sex with me?" Peter asked.

"What? I like you."

"Sure you do," Peter said, stroking down her face to her breasts. She smiles and it is not a pretty smile.

"I think this is about Neal," Peter said.

"Everything is always about Neal," Kate said. She pulled away from Peter, standing, hands on narrow hips.

"Half those jobs were my idea," Kate said. "Half of what's left should be mine."

"I should arrest you," Peter said. He is very tired suddenly.

"I know what you really want and I can give him to you," Kate taunts. "I can send him begging to your bed or you can have both of us. Just tell him to give me the cache."

"He's not yours to give," Peter said, the curtain moved by the window and he thought he heard what might have been a quiet sob.

"Do you really think you can change him? He's not capable of it. Or of love," Kate said. "He never loved me."

"You broke his heart," Peter said, "That second time I caught him, I had to pick him off the floor. I could have put my gun to his head and he would not have flinched."

"Oh, drama, Neal is so full of drama. You obviously want him so bad."

"I don't 'want' him," Peter said, tempted to tell Kate how wrong she was. He has him.

"You lie badly," Kate says with a toss of her head. "You can have him. He bores me. I wanted him because he was interesting and because he made everyone jealous of me when we entered a room together. We were a pretty pair. But I wanted more. I wanted to be rich. I wanted to be wealthy enough so nothing would ever hurt me. If you have enough money, you can buy anything, beauty, love, prestige. Neal would make a big score and give it away. You know Moz?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "I know him."

"Leeches off Neal. Moz took him off the streets when he was young, but that was paid back years ago. Neal still bails Moz out. The little creep was always hanging around, sleeping on our couch, spying on us. He was horrid. And he wasn't the only one. Neal is a soft touch for the world. I tried to be nice, but a woman wants to have a home, a life that is not one stray dog after another. Sometimes literally stray dogs. I hate dogs, all that hair, that drool. Disgusting. Do you know he kisses dogs?"

Kate shudders. "So get me Neal's cache and I will give him to you. No more worries about me. I'll make sure he knows that I was never his Kate."

For one moment, Kate looks wistful. "If he could have made me happy, I would have stayed. He couldn't. Maybe somewhere, someone can."

Neal comes from behind the curtain like a sleepwalker. He looks at Kate and then at Peter. His eyes are so wide. He looks as if he will snap or perhaps he has shattered already.

"I told her there was no money," Neal said. Turning to Kate, he adds "I thought it would keep you until I got out."

"You. You cheater. You always cheat me. You take what's mine," Kate shrewed at Neal, her fingers claws, threatening his eyes.

Peter grabbed, held her, she is strong for such a petite thing. Finally she droops and she cries. Neal takes a step toward her, hand outstretched.

"No," Kate says. "Don't touch me. You never, ever get to touch me again."

Wild looks at Peter and at Neal. "I'll tell your wife and then you will have nothing."

"She knows."

"I'll tell your boss," Kate said. "Neal will be in prison and you'll be fired."

"She did half the bonds. Her prints are on the templates. Moz has them," Neal said. "He never trusted her even though he accepted her for my sake."

Now Kate is afraid. Peter said, "You can walk, Kate, I'll give you that much. If you don't, even if you do your worst, you'll go down too."

Peter is half sick with this. He feels exhausted. "Sorry, Neal, it was all I could think to do. I love you too much to let you throw your life away."

Kate packs her things. She has hectic spots on her cheeks. She keeps brushing back her long hair with choppy angry motions.

His head low, Peter can not look at Neal. He has played games to trap criminals and not felt more than a wisp of regret. He has never broken a heart. He fears he has severed a fragile and priceless bond; he fears he will lose Neal anyway.

Kate leaves, slamming the door, casting over her shoulder, "You win, you son of a bitch. Keep your cow and that boy."

There is a long silence. Peter knows he fought dirty. He fought any way he could to keep Neal and, if his soul is mortgaged, he is willing to pay any price but losing Neal.

Neal's expression is so bewildered and hurt that Peter is not sure if he didn't destroy what he loved.

Peter feels Neal's touch. "Have I lost you?" he asked.

"I was afraid she took you from me and El," Neal said.

"Kate is not my type," Peter said.

"I'm an idiot, aren't I? I think I'm so smart and I thought she loved me," Neal said. "Four years of my life for that. Another four if you didn't risk all to save me."

"Come here," Peter said.

Neal hesitated. He is sinewy. He is strong although slight. He is all nerves and fire. He is still so distraught that he might immolate on his own emotions.

"Please," Peter said, putting all his love in one word.

Neal comes coaxed, a wild thing in a trap that must trust the hunter to let it free, one way or another.

Peter brings him to a mirror. They stand together. Peter is taller. He has a hand on Neal's shoulder and slides another around his waist. They look good. They look like they belong. Peter tilts down, Neal reaches up and their lips meet. The couple in the mirror also kiss.

"I can't promise you the world. I can't give you riches, just an occasional bottle of wine. I'm not a Kate. I'm no match for your beauty. I do have El and that won't ever change so I can't even pledge all of me. But I promise you that I have a faithful heart no matter how it might seem. I never thought this would be me, two lovers, two people I adore so much I can give neither up. I'm incredibly lucky that my loves like each other. I am just a lucky man."

Neal leans back, sheltering in Peter. He is listening.

"I can say this, if you are willing, in four years, in forty years, that will still be us. Your place is in my heart even if I can't build you a palace in the clouds. And I am sorry if that's not enough for you."

Neal kisses his hand and turns slow grace to put his arms around Peter. "You are my rock, Peter, and my castle, my cache, and ask me again in four years or forty. I am yours."

They will not consecrate their love here. Here is pain and strife. Here is the memory of Kate's troubled spirit.

Yet as they leave, one hand finds another. And there is comfort where there was despair.

The end


End file.
